


bittersweet endings

by fluffysfics



Series: punk rock never dies, and neither does the Master [8]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, F/M, M/M, but it’s a bit soft, mild depictions of violence, punk Master, the Master’s time on Earth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-18
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26531641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fluffysfics/pseuds/fluffysfics
Summary: For four years, the Master has had friends. He’s had a life, in London, and he’s learned to care about people for the first time in centuries.But nothing can last forever.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), The Master (Dhawan)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: punk rock never dies, and neither does the Master [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1696336
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28





	1. Chapter 1

The beginning of the end came on an unusually warm September day in 1981. 

The Master’s friends had dragged him to a protest- something about police, and Margaret Thatcher, the sort of thing that had been in the news for _months_ at this point. There was a part of his mind that still wanted to sit back and let the humans fight out their own problems, but that part had been secondary to the _Harry_ part of him for several years. 

Harry Marsters was a human who cared about social issues, and his friends, and playing that role really wasn’t so difficult, the Master found. 

The protests had turned violent just as they’d been marching through Trafalgar Square. He was used to violence, he was safe, but- his friends weren’t. 

Tasha- brave, loud, _stupid_ Tasha- was the one to get hurt. Someone threw a bottle with enough force that it shattered directly over her head, and she slumped to the floor. Rage had filled the Master, clouding his vision- he charged into the crowd, only for a hand on his arm to pull him back- May. 

“Don’t,” she said, her voice shaking. “Fucking _Christ_ , please don’t. We have to get her out of here. And I can’t carry you if you get hurt.” 

She had a point. Cricket had already gathered Tasha into his arms- she seemed barely conscious, groaning in pain, blood mingling with the purple streaks in her hair. Alive, but _hurt_. 

The Master nodded mutely, and helped May clear a path through the rowdy humans to get her to safety. He elbowed and shoved, shouted and glared, and then they were out, just in time to hear sirens and screams as the police showed up. 

“Pigs,” May spat. “I bet one of them started this riot. They do that, you know? They go undercover in peaceful protests and start throwing bricks, and then we get blamed for it. _Pigs_! And now they’ve hurt my fucking girlfriend, and I-“ 

She had been storming through the streets so fast that the rest of them could barely keep up, but now she stopped, turning back to face them, and the Master noticed that she had tears in her eyes. Four years, and he didn’t think he’d ever seen her cry. She was the toughest person he knew. 

“May, she’ll be okay, she just needs a couple stitches. I’ve seen way worse at protests like this,” Cricket said. “Harry, hug her for me, my arms are full.” 

The Master didn’t really do hugs. But he wordlessly wrapped his arms around his friend, and let her cry into the spiked shoulder of his jacket. 

“We can’t do this forever,” she mumbled against him. “We can’t. We’re almost fucking _thirty_ , that’s too old to get hurt like that. We can’t do this forever.” 

She was shaking in his arms, and the Master didn’t say anything, but her words sent a chill right down his spine. They were all growing older. All of them, except him, and sooner or later the cracks in his carefully-constructed life here would start to show. 

——

The Master didn’t exactly make a habit of smoking, not like he’d used to in some of his older bodies. But sometimes he found himself on the roof of Cricket’s block of flats, gazing up at the night sky, and the light pollution meant that there were hardly any stars to watch. The gentle curls of cigarette smoke were a pretty good substitute, he found. 

“There a reason you invited me up here?” He turned his gaze away from the sky, to his friend, who was leaning against the waist-high wall surrounding the edge of the building. Was _friend_ the right word? Cricket felt like more than that, somehow, even though the Master had adamantly refused to put a label on anything they did. It wasn’t fair on the poor human, to make him think this could be forever. 

“...Yeah.” Cricket sighed, and took a long drag on his cigarette. The tip glowed in the half-darkness, and he closed his eyes, holding a breath for a few seconds before exhaling smoke into the night. “I need your advice.” 

He sounded serious. Well- he usually sounded serious, but this seemed to be something _real_. The Master took a couple steps closer, looping his free arm around Cricket’s waist. “Tell me anything, love.” 

Cricket dropped his head, letting his forehead rest against the Master’s. It was...intimate. A gesture that the Master had only ever shared with the Doctor- a press of foreheads to share thoughts, share a kiss. Share _anything_. 

“I applied for a nursing course, Harry. Over at St Luke’s, in Bristol. And they offered me a place. It’d start in January. Do...do I take it?” 

Oh. 

The Master felt like his hearts had dropped out through his stomach, and he...didn’t know what to do with that feeling. Anger was hardly appropriate. He wasn’t angry, anyway. It was just...a feeling of creeping, miserable inevitability. Sooner or later, these humans had to move on with their lives. He couldn’t hold back time for them. 

“Yes,” he said softly, pressing his eyes tight shut. “Of course you should take it.” 

He let the cigarette drop from his hand, the flame dying out quickly on the damp floor. 

“Thank you,” Cricket said, and kissed him. The Master let it happen, tasted acrid smoke on his tongue, and wondered if this was what the Doctor felt like every time he turned down her pleas to travel with her. 

“What- why did you apply?” It would only stick the knife in deeper, to know the reasons _why_ , but the Master had to ask. 

“I want to help people.” The answer was immediate, firm. “I always have, Harry. For a while...the best way to do that’s been on the streets. Protesting. Making change. But now... I need something else. Something safer. Not as young as I used to be.” 

“You make it sound like thirty is ancient,” the Master said, a vain attempt at a joke. 

“Found a grey hair the other day, might as well be ancient,” Cricket teased. “I...you could move with me, Harry. Come live with me there.” 

The Master sighed. His hearts were back in their rightful places, and they both hurt. He’d been worried that that question would be coming. 

“I can’t come with you,” he said softly. “This is for you. I’m not- I can’t-“ _Not like you. Can’t be yours_. He had his own future to wait for, thirty-nine years from now. 

Cricket was quiet for a minute, and then he nodded slightly. “Yeah. I thought you’d probably say that.” 

There wasn’t a hint of resentment in his tone, and somehow that hurt worse than if he’d been angry. 

“I’ll keep in touch,” the Master said, even though he knew he wouldn’t, not for long. He couldn’t. Cricket nodded again. 

“You’d better,” he said, and then the Master found himself being kissed again. 

He was grateful that humans were one of the species that closed their eyes during kissing. It made it a lot easier to get away with crying. 

——

January came and went, and the Master spent close to a week in a drunken haze, misery clawing at his guts, only barely numbed by the copious amounts of ginger beer he consumed. 

If he’d been smart, he would have left before now. He wouldn’t have to walk past Cricket’s old flat on the way to the shops, and glance up at the second window on the sixth floor, and see the spider plant that had been put there by whichever old lady lived there now. 

This didn’t hurt quite as much as when the Doctor had stolen a TARDIS and run away from Gallifrey, leaving him behind. He could at least call Cricket, write him letters.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt like hell anyway. Everything seemed to hurt, these days. 

It was well into the second week of February when there was a knock at his door. The Master sat up in bed, wincing. His head hurt. He didn’t think he’d changed his clothes in close to a week, and his beard had grown out longer than he’d let it in years. 

There was another, more insistent, knock. This was followed by the letterbox creaking open, and a familiar voice yelling at him. 

“I know yer in there, Harry! Open up!” 

Sighing, the Master smoothed down his clothes as best he could in five seconds, and opened the door. Tasha was standing there, hair now streaked with green (in honour of Cricket leaving, he remembered her saying), carrying a rucksack. 

“Hello...?”

“Hi,” she said cheerily, in a way that reminded him far too much of the Doctor. An infuriating habit of hers. “You look like shit! Landlord kicked us out. ‘E’s been threatening it for _ages_. Can we crash here?”

“We?” The Master blinked, barely even registering the ‘you look like shit’ comment. It was definitely true, anyway. 

“Yeah! May’s just coming.” Tasha bounced inside. The Master stuck his head out of the door, spotting May trailing up the street, carrying a very large rucksack and two wheeled suitcases. 

She did not bounce inside. She trudged in, dumped her luggage on the floor, and immediately crashed onto his sofa. 

“ _Please_ tell me you keep good drinks in this place, Harry. Christ, I need at least a whole bottle of vodka after that.” 

The Master nodded, turning to his kitchen cupboards to find what she’d asked for. By the time he’d turned back, Tasha had cuddled up against May’s side, and was scattering kisses over her face. He paused, suddenly reminded of his own adolescence- sprawling on his bed after doing _both_ of their homework for the day, Theta crawling on top of him and covering him in kisses to say thank you. 

He handed the bottle to May before his hands started shaking too much to hold onto it, and went to sit down on a chair in the corner. 

“What actually happened? Why’d you get kicked out?” 

May and Tasha both sighed, glanced at each other, and then at him. “Three guesses, Harry,” May said flatly. 

“Your landlord’s either homophobic or thinks you’re troublemakers who are going to burn his property down. Didn’t even need guess number three,” the Master said, managing a laugh. 

“Right on both counts,” May said, taking an alarmingly large gulp of vodka. She grimaced as it went down, then passed the bottle to Tasha. “Got to have a _lovely_ conversation about what godless heathens we are. And then he kicked us out.” 

“Third time in six months,” Tasha grumbled. “So now we’re here! Thanks, Harry.” 

The Master wanted to point out that he hadn’t actually agreed to anything yet, but...was there any point? He was hardly going to turn them away. They needed a place to live. He had one. 

An itch of a plan curled itself around the back of his mind. He chewed on the inside of his lip, a sick sort of feeling churning in his stomach. If he put this into motion, there’d be no turning back. He’d have to leave this life behind. 

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing a slow sigh. This had been a long time coming; it was time to stop putting it off. 

“You’re welcome to stay as long as you want,” he said softly. “You’re my friends, after all.” 

——

The Master spent most of the next two days locked away in his room. Making phone calls. _Writing_. A letter, a proper long one, and it was hard- his handwriting this time around was an unruly chicken scratch, and apparently he favoured his left hand, which meant that his skin ended up smeared with ink. His writing style was bizarrely formal- he’d put that down to his Gallifreyan education. He couldn’t be bothered to try and develop a new one now. 

Then there was the packing. He didn’t own many things, these days. A slightly larger wardrobe than he’d used to have, and a few other essentials. It all fit in one bag; not even a big one. When it was packed, it stared accusingly at him from the corner of his bedroom- judging him for not leaving yet. 

The night before Cricket had left for Bristol, they’d had a party. Just the four of them, and loud music, and too much to drink. May and Tasha had crashed on his sofa, and the Master had spent his last night in Cricket’s bed, desperately trying to hold back the morning. 

His last night here was less dramatic. May and Tasha were still sleeping on an air mattress in his living room, desperately looking for a new place to live. The Master had brought chips home, made them take a break from house-hunting to eat with him, and then they’d gone to bed. 

It was four in the morning when he left. Bag on his back, he carefully placed the letter he’d written between his sleeping friends, and then he crept out of the door. For a moment, he gazed at the set of keys in his hand, and he closed his eyes. Four years here, and he’d become so sentimental. 

The Master reached up, taking the spare key from above the doorframe and posting it through the door. His keys, however, he stuffed into his pocket. He couldn’t bear to give up that small souvenir. 

He laid his hand on the front door, lingering, and then shook his head. Time to go. Turning away, the Master walked down the steps for the last time, and headed off towards a new life. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Dearest Cricket, May, and Tasha,_

_By the time you finish reading this letter, you will most likely think I am completely insane. I promise I am not. Take this letter to the headquarters of the United Nations Intelligence Taskforce (UNIT) in London, and ask to speak to Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. Tell him it’s about the Master, and he will see you._

_Now, I have some things to explain._

_You know me as Harry Marsters- my real name is the Master. I’m not human. I’m a Time Lord, from the planet of Gallifrey. My ‘ex’, Jade, is actually the Doctor, another Time Lord. We have a complicated relationship- thanks to her, I have been stranded on Earth since 1943 and will remain here until the year 2020._ _I know this is hard to believe, but please trust me._

_The three of you have made the last four years of my life better than any others I’ve spent on Earth. When I met you, I was bitter and miserable and convinced that humans were good for absolutely nothing._

_You showed me how wrong I was. I will always be grateful to you for that._

_I wish I could have stayed with you longer, but the lifespan of a Time Lord is many thousands of years long. You would have grown suspicious of me eventually. And you deserve to have your own lives. Please live good lives for me._

_I was so hesitant to call you my friends, when we met. I was terrified to feel anything for any of you, because I knew how much it would hurt to leave. I was right, it does hurt. But now, I am proud to say that you were, and are, my friends. I hope that one day I will see you again, somehow._

_Tasha- you were the first person on Earth to show me any sympathy. In our first interaction, you were rude and abrasive, and you reminded me so much of the Doctor. I knew I was going to like you. And I was right. You have been a rock, albeit a very brightly coloured one, and no one has ever made me laugh as much as you. Thank you._

_May- I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone more like my younger self, at least in personality. I admire your wit and intelligence, your level-headedness, and your fierce devotion to those you love. Speaking of your level-headedness, I thought I should give you the details of my present to the two of you, rather than Tasha._

_The flat you’ve been staying in is yours until the end of the lease, in three months. After that, there is a house in Bristol paid for under your names. I know you miss Cricket, and I know how stressful it’s been living in London, recently. The deed to the house is in your name, everything is taken care of, and all the pertinent information is attached to this letter. You deserve good lives. Live them._

_Cricket- I could never say this to your face, but I loved you. It wouldn’t have been fair of me to promise you anything real, given my lifespan. I hope you can forgive me for that, but I understand if you can’t. You kept me sane. You made me realise that whilst I might not be human, I am hardly immune to human feelings. You were so much better to me than I deserved, and I wish you all of the happiness in the world. You deserve it._

_The three of you changed my life for the better. I’m sorry to have to write this letter, I genuinely am. But I owed you answers, and I hope that this letter has given them to you._

_One more word of warning- if you do take this letter to UNIT, and a man called the Doctor is there, stay away from him. Please. No matter what the Doctor might say, they ruin lives. I love them, and it ruined me. Don’t fall prey to the same fate. Live for yourselves._

_Ever your friend,_

_Harry_

**Author's Note:**

> this isn’t the last fic in the series, I promise!! there will be one more chronologically after this, and then maybe some more from during his four years on Earth if I have more ideas.
> 
> hope you’ve enjoyed this! comments and kudos are very much appreciated, I’m very attached to this little fic series <3


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